Amnesia: Daniel's Diary (Pre-Game)
by bluetoothpaste
Summary: A little something about Daniel's life before the game. Written as a journal, sort of like in the game itself. Rated T for some mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, Amnesia fandom. Here's a little something I've been wanting to write for a while now. I want to start out by saying I love fanfics, but there is a serious lack of them in this fandom...at least, fanfics **_**actually **_**having to do with Amnesia. Why is almost everything on here a Pewdiepie fanfic? That's not Amnesia, people.**

**Anyway...needed to vent. If you feel the same way, PM me and we can rant together. For now, enjoy the story!**

September 1828

Against my better judgment I've gone ahead and bought this journal. It wasn't too expensive, but we haven't much money and every bit counts.

However, I feel the need to preserve this small slice of history for fear it will be forgotten in time. I'm not sure if anyone cares about a poor boy and his sister, but I've learned in school that all of history is about putting together little pieces (documents, journals, etc.) like a puzzle. I hope this will become an important puzzle piece one day. I love history and think it is the most fascinating subject in all the world.

For the future reader, here's a bit about me: my name is Daniel, and I am ten years old. I have a sister named Hazel who is four. As I've already mentioned, we are quite poor and we live in Mayfair, London. Our father is an artisan who has a little shop down the street. As for our mother...well, she's not with _us _anymore. Although I suppose if I had a choice between this life and riches, I don't know what way I'd choose. Granted I could take Hazel with me, of course.

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I'm very sorry if I am a poor writer. I really am. Don't change the way you think of our time if I am, for there are many good writers out there now.

Have I mentioned that I love reading as well as history? I know it isn't proper for someone as poor as me to enjoy such things as much as I do, but books provide a sort of friendship when there's none at school. I must admit that I'm not quite as...burly as the other boys and I'm somewhat small for my age. I'm often behind in school because I sometimes have to skip school to keep my job at the cotton mill.

Were it my choice I'd quit. But I mustn't give it up: Hazel needs me to make the money since she's too ill to work and Father spends most of his earnings on...other things. It's not the greatest life, I suppose, but we manage.

I find that books provide comfort when nothing else can. Hazel, too, is partial to them since she's not able to be as active as other children her age. She's too young to read yet, but enjoys it immensely when I share a tale or two with her.

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Spent most of the evening helping out Father at his workshop. His crafts range from pottery to painting to woodworking, and I am constantly angered by the patience required to do the jobs correctly.

Tonight I was sculpting on the pottery wheel and couldn't seem to form the lumpy clay with my hands at all like Father. I made sure to tell him how I wished to be gifted at the craft like him, but he prefers results over a sweet tongue.

His instruction is fair but often rather harsh. I know he only wishes the best for the future of his trade, but many times his language veers into territory that...well, that I would keep Hazel away from. In response I always do my best to please him. He, like myself, is quite busy.

He was sober today, thank God, and was mostly quiet when we arrived home. I prepared dinner quickly and took some up to Hazel, who was in bed as usual. After a short bedtime story, I left her to get her rest – she needs it.

**Okay, people! That was part 1. I'm going to publish by month (in the journal, not monthly IRL). It's really hard to write old-fashioned and still sound like a kid, so any tips would be much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I'm back. Actually I have a large portion of this fic written, but it's not uploaded yet. I'll...uh...work on that, I guess. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer (which I forgot in Chapter 1): I don't own any of these characters, except for one (maybe several, no telling) coming up later. All credit to Frictional for coming up with awesome games for us to write fanfics about.**

October 1828

Today I'm wishing that I could find relief at school in a way that I don't find it at home. Though I really do care for Hazel, she is very young and often very ill, and dealing with Father and his drunkenness can wear out the mind and body.

At school there is a boy, Henry Bedloe, whose own weariness has become such a burden that he has to force it upon others. It wouldn't be quite accurate to say he _torments_ me, but his bitterness is enough to make me tire of attending school as much as going home or to work. I don't know why I have no place of true rest, because I can't remember ever sinning so badly as to bring this upon myself. I have a feeling I may be paying for the sins of my future self. I don't know why, but I think I may end up getting into a whole lot of trouble without knowing it.

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I feel the need to write despite bleeding quite badly in several places. I'm trying hard to keep blood off this journal, but Father was particularly...harsh tonight.

I always have to assure Hazel that I'm all right and tell her not to worry about me, but I wish I didn't. She deserves better than this life, and I'm always sorry that I'm too young to give it to her. She shouldn't have to see me with black eyes, bruises, or belt lashes that have to be tended to and covered up with the paint I snuck out of Father's shop.

I don't mind taking the brunt of it; to me, it's just keeping his mind off of her. I would never forgive myself if he laid a hand on her...but I still see the effect his drunkenness has in her eyes. She's frightened. I can try to pretend he doesn't have an effect on _me_, but I can't hide the sounds of his slurred yelling and the loud clanging and rattling from the kitchen, nor the many injuries I've gotten over the years.

Father wasn't always this way. He used to be kind and sober, until Mother left. That was the year after Hazel was born, the year his little shop wasn't doing so well. Turns out Mother had been seeing a wealthy merchant, and when things got tough, well, she...

I wish I could tell Hazel she was dead. Better to have a dead parent who cared than a living one who doesn't. But Father frequently taunts me about it, and I know Hazel hears. Besides, I'm not sure I could lie to her, anyway.

**Done with that! I promise, this story gets more...complicated, I guess. There'll be more to it. I'm just trying to establish basic canon now. As always, tips appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope you guys like this. Just so you know, I don't hate Pewdiepie. I'm just sick of his fandom being confused with the Amnesia fandom, that's all. Two separate fandoms, people! Both awesome, but **_**separate.**_

**Enough with that. Hey...do I need to make my chapters longer? Maybe the notebook I'm writing this in is too small. It looks pretty long in there.**

November 1828

Maybe you've noticed that I don't write as much as other people who keep journals. I know others write several times a week, even daily...but I've been trying to save ink and paper. Even this book was enough extra money to spend, and I can't afford to be blowing money on this. A couple times a month should be enough to have a good record for the history books.

The weather has grown colder as winter approaches and I now have another thing to add to my list of chores: keeping the fire. I always have a lantern and candles lit in my room to keep out the dark, however, so the fire's not too much of a challenge.

I always spend more time with Hazel in the winter, for she is sometimes frail and I feel as though I have to be by her side lest she let her strength fail her. I read to her whenever I can, though I wish I had more time to do so between school, work, chores, and helping Father. I urge her not to forget the stories with hope she'll pull through if she keeps them in mind.

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The days grow darker as December approaches. Now is the time for me to describe yet another part of myself for the history books, but a part that I'm a bit ashamed of and one that few others are aware of. If _anyone _found out, especially Henry Bedloe, it would be...bad. But this journal is more important than that, and besides—no one is even aware of this book save myself.

I must admit that I do not like the dark. I'm not afraid of monsters...not really. I suppose one day I'll be running from monsters in the dark, but not now. Now, it's more that I fear being _trapped _in the dark forever.

It's all because of an incident that happened shortly after Mother left. I wasn't used to Father being drunk and easily provoked, and I accidentally broke one of the pottery pieces in his shop. It didn't take long for him to drag me back home and lock me in the closet...in complete darkness...for hours. I can't say for sure how much time passed since I didn't see the sun for quite some time. For a while I thought he'd forgotten me or purposely left me there to die. But eventually he did let me out, and I haven't dealt well with the darkness since. Sometimes it's difficult to walk the streets at night, even with a lantern.

This is another thing Hazel would be better off not knowing. She views me as a parent of sorts; I can't be afraid of anything.

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Went to the market to stock up on food before winter arrives. The food's always better if you buy it before the blistery winds hit—it's much fresher.

When I was out I also stopped at the library to return the books we have and pick up new ones. I grabbed some storybooks for Hazel and a few on history for myself: I've recently become fascinated by ancient history and ruins of civilizations long ago buried by time.

Sadly I don't know a whole lot about ancient history as I write; we actually don't _own _any books save an old collection of fairy tales I've read to Hazel so often she's nearly memorized it. But I definitely plan to do a great deal more reading. Knowledge is a wonderful source of joy for me. It sounds crazy, but I'd very much like to attend university someday. Of course, Father would definitely want me to stay an artisan, and no one as poor as me has ever gone as far as I'm aware, but...one can dream.

**This chapter = slightly longer than the last. Hopefully this is a little more fleshed out than my previous chapters. Thanks for reading. As always, writing tips encouraged.**


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